Just Finished Reading: Self by Barry Dainton (FP: 2014)

Who Are You? It’s a big question. What makes you…. You? Is it an immortal soul housed in your meat body somehow with a connection between the two or are you essentially a meat machine driven by instinct and deep seated biological drives? What, and where, is the essential ‘I’ that makes up the Self? These are all questions posed in this intriguing, if sometime difficult to understand, slim volume.

Opening with some history of the idea – inevitably involving Descartes’s idea of a dualistic mind/body separation – the author delves into the structure of the brain (once thought to be a mere radiator who’s purpose was to cool the blood) and the physicality of how memory works. For memory is, it seems, the essence of who you are. The persistence of memory, from second to second, and year to year, informs you as to who you are. It is the narrative, the life story that we tell ourselves, that defines us and it is the memory of that story that tells us who we are. When physical brain injury or debilitating disease (or simple age) takes this away from us we lose all (or some) sense of who we actually are. The Self, it would appear emerges from the whirlwind dance of experience, thought and memory that is to a significant extent hardwired into the physical structure of our brains by our life experiences and our reactions to them. Continuity is key here. If each morning, after a period of unconsciousness, you awoke without any clear memory of the previous day your Self would be fragmented and your consciousness episodic. The fact that you wake up as you shows that the existence of mere consciousness is not enough to guarantee the development of a Self. Consciousness, the fact of being aware and, indeed, of being aware that you are aware is only one element in the story of the Self.

It’s been a while since I’ve read any decent philosophy and it showed as I, occasionally at least, struggled with parts of this book. Far from being badly written I lay any fault at my doorstep rather than the authors. The arguments regarding the existence of the Self – the author is not one of those philosophers who consider the whole idea a quaint illusion – are complicated and deserve intellectual effort to fully comprehend. So be prepared to put some effort in here. Fortunately the author often has a light and playful touch which helps, as does his use of astute thought experiments from deep within my comfort zone – Science Fiction. Debates on the effects of matter transmission on the brain/body tease out the details of continuity of consciousness help as does discussion of intelligent machines. If you have any background in the wondrous world of SF you’ll find all of this an entertaining breeze.

The final chapter did seem a little out of place though. Again deep in the realm of SF speculation the author discussed the idea that we might not be ‘real’ in the sense that we all, no doubt, think we are. He indeed made a strong argument for the proposition that our selves may indeed be virtual constructs living inside a vast computer simulation. Indeed he proposes that the likelihood of this being so, given the apparent age of the Universe and the probability that future (or present!) civilisations would be expected to be both curious and have practically infinite computer power at their disposal, it is almost certain that you (reading this) and I (writing it) are both virtual people. That’s quite a mind job when you sit down and think about it. All in all this was fascinating (and deep) stuff. If you do fancy reading such things I do recommend putting some quality time aside in order to have the opportunity to ponder, re-read if required, and walk around the garden before tackling the next bit. A rewarding if, sometimes challenging, read. Recommended and more philosophy to come.